Bird and Animals
In the previous article, I wrote about flowers and what those kigo symbolize for me. This time, I will touch
upon birds and four-legged animals.
As a life-long city dweller, my encounters with birds have been rather limited. But wings and what wings
may represent are one of the subjects I often return to.
noki tsubame kosho urishi hi wa umi e yuku
swallow under eaves
the day I sell my books
I go to the beach
Shuji Terayama (1)
A Japanese friend told me that she drove to the beach in Santa Cruz on Thanksgiving Day right after her
divorce. It was her first Thanksgiving alone and she cried watching the waves. She said she regretted almost
everything that day; coming to the U.S., getting married here, even having children. But after a while, she
noticed sea gulls flying slowly and gracefully above her head. She felt lighter and regained her confidence.
Since then, like a swallow that comes back to the same spot every year, going to that beach in Santa Cruz has
become her tradition on Thanksgiving. On alternate years, she now goes there with her two sons.
hototogisu asu wa ano yama koete ikō
a cuckoo
tomorrow I walk over
that mountain
Santoka Taneda (2)
Since ancient times, cuckoos have been one of the favorite subjects for Japanese poets. Every spring,
my friend in Tokyo sends me e-mail, excitedly telling me he has heard the first cuckoo of the year. I am most
drawn to cuckoos when they practicing their famous singing. Perhaps I prefer the process of completing
something to the finished art. It is very rewarding to find the most suitable kigo to represent my mood.
kawasemi satte yubi ni yubiwa no nokoru nomi
a kingfisher left—
on my finger
only the ring remains
Kusatao Nakamura (3)
When I read the above haiku by Kusatao Nakamura, the song I heard when I was a child comes back to
me. I do not know if a kingfisher sounds like a laughing human being, but the lyrics go like this:
don’t tell this to
a laughing kingfisher
crackle, crackle, crackle
it will make a loud noise
It is rather strange that I remember this song. Kusatao’s work is calm and quiet. I have a tendency
toward dramatic haiku. Did I consciously warn myself not to reveal too much of my inner self?
mina ōki fukuro o oeri kari wataru
every one of them carries
a big bag on their backs—
migrating geese
Sanki Saito (4)
Sanki Saito wrote this haiku shortly after World War II. These people might have been at a train station in
Tokyo just coming back from a rural area with precious food. A big bag can be a metaphor for the burden,
hopelessness, or anger they felt after the war. Sometimes I feel that haiku poets should be aware of the time
we are living in. I am not suggesting we write with more anti-war, save-whatever themes in mind. I do not like
when people write about something they saw on TV. Haiku, I believe, should be about the poets, their lives, how
they see the world around them. Keen observation of nature is one important element in haiku. At the same
time, we can reflect the contemporary world around us.
New Year’s Eve bath—
I failed to become
a swan
Fay Aoyagi (5)
Technically speaking, this haiku has two winter kigo: New Year’s Eve and swan. I use them intentionally
because this is an allusion to a haiku written by Sumio Mori.
joya no tsuma hakuchō no goto yuami ori
my wife on New Year’s Eve
taking a bath
as though she is a swan
Sumio Mori (6)
You may not realize what I failed to become. On the surface, what I wanted to write about was my failure
of finding Mr. Right that year again. Still, I am taking a bath on New Year’s Eve like the beloved wife of Sumio
Mori. I may not be a swan, but I am a bird that has strong wings to fly.
Approximately four hundred kigo are listed in Kiyose (7), a Japanese saijiki. But you will find very few
four-legged animals there except under winter. In the spring section, I only found animals that were in heat,
pregnant, just born, or in infancy.
cats in love
the tug of my comb
through tangled hair
Ebba Story (8)
Cat, neko in Japanese, is not itself a kigo, but there are several cat-related kigo. “Cats in love” is a spring
kigo. Kajike (shivering with cold) neko, kamado (kitchen stove) neko and hai (ash) neko are winter kigo. I must
assure cat lovers; kamado neko and hai neko are not cats burned in the stove nor have they become ash. In
the past, wood or charcoal was used for cooking. Long after the fire was extinguished, cats sought out the
warmth still in the ashes in the kitchen stove.
In Kiyose (7), you can find “frog” in the spring animal section and “snake” and “bat” in the summer
animal section.
hebi no me ni mirarete uzuku ashi no kizu
eyes of a snake
being stared at by them
the scar on my leg aches
Chiyoko Kato (9)
his haiku by Chiyoko Kato as well as Ebba Story’s, make me think about a woman’s point of view. I sense
the contour of the body of us, females. Haiku can be square and haiku can be round.
Though I do not like snakes in real life, I like “snake” as a kigo. They shed their skins, they go
underground to hibernate. Have you ever desired to change your personality or to coil up in the darkness
oblivious to your surroundings?
Animals used in the three haiku below are not kigo, but they are the essence of haiku.
Unlike snakes, dogs have the reputation for being our best companions. You may want to try writing
haiku from a dog’s point of view. Those limpid eyes will see the world differently from us.
Indian summer—
the Golden Retriever
shaking off the river
Garry Gay (10)
Garry Gay is a professional photographer. When I read his haiku, I can visualize what he presents
clearly. It is different from a boring picture postcard haiku.
chichi o tarite bogyū no ayumi fuyu hi kana
dripping milk
mother cow walks—
winter day
Dakotsu Iida (10)
Dakotsu Iida (1885-1962) went back to his home village at the age of 25 in the middle of his schooling in
Tokyo. He wrote about the mountains and fields surrounding him and about his life as the oldest son of a
wealthy farmer. More than once I wished I had “turf” like Dakotsu. I am trying to write about the places I live or
had lived with the passion and tenderness that he showed in his haiku.
morning twilight …
horse asleep in the pasture
covered with frost
Lee Gurga (12)
Lee Gurga writes about the place he lives. As in Dakotsu’s haiku, I often feel masculinity, in an
affectionate way, from his haiku. When I visited his house in Lincoln, IL, I told him I could order a cab to go back
to the airport. He and his wife laughed so hard. “This is not Chikago or New York! Cabs are very hard to find
around here,” they said. I thought San Francisco is a place where one has a hard time finding a cab compared
with Tokyo and New York, two other places I once called home.
The next article will be about insects. Stay tuned.
(1) Zōshoku suru haiku saijiki (Haiku saijiki which breeds) edited by Tetsuo Shimizu (http://zouhai.com)
(2) Gendai no Haiku (Modern Haiku Anthology) edited by Shōbin Hirai, Kadokawa Shoten, 1982
(3) Nakamura Kusatao Kushū (Haiku by Kusatao Nakamura), edited by Kenkichi Yamamoto,
Kadokawa Shoten, 1952
(4) Gendai Haiku (Modern Haiku) by Kenkichi Yamamoto, Kadokawa Shoten, 1998
(5) Chrysanthemum Love by Fay Aoyagi, Blue Willow Press, 2003
(6) Mori Sumio/Iida Ryūta Shū (collection of haiku by Sumio Mori and Ryūta Iida) selected by Sumio Mori
and Ryūta Iida, Asahi Shimbunsha, 1984
(7) Kiyose (Collection of Season) edited and published by Kadokawa Shoten, 2001
(8) Geppo Jan-Feb, 2004
(9) Dai Saijiki (Comprehensive Saijiki) edited by Shuoshi Mizuhara, Shuson Kato, Kenkichi
Yamamoto, Kodansha, 1982
(10) Along the Way by Garry Gay, Snapshot Press, 2000
(11) Nihon no Shiika (Japanese Poetry) Vol.19 edited by Shinkichi Ito et al, Chūō Kōronsha, 1976
(12) Fresh Scent: Selected Haiku of Lee Gurga, edited by Randy M. Brooks, Brooks Books, 1998
All Japanese translation by Fay Aoyagi.